


Being Alive

by missdibley



Series: Conversation Hearts [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Crimson Peak (2015), Crimson Peak (2015) RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Allerdale Hall, Crimson Peak, F/M, Ghosts, Haunted House, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6013032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Aure Saverin may have been unremarkable in life, she has become something of a legend in death. Her legend and legacy has been bringing young women to Crimson Peak to delve into the mysterious circumstances surrounding her death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Alive

_Somebody hold me too close_  
_Somebody hurt me too deep_  
_Somebody sit in my chair_  
_And ruin my sleep_  
_And make me aware of being alive_  
_Being alive  
_ Stephen Sondheim, “Being Alive”

It was almost midnight on the eve of St. Valentine’s Day, and the young women gathered in front of what was left of Allerdale Hall were ready. It had been a few years since the young Miss Aure Saverin had passed away. Seemingly in good health, her lifeless body was found at the bottom of the mansion’s grand staircase. Her fiancé Ted Wallis noted that she looked peaceful, almost happy, her face and hair covered in a veil of red dust, before the coroner took her away.

Ted had moved on from his dream of being a world renowned ghost hunter to join the family business. He married and had children. He never spoke of that night, or that terrible morning. He never revealed what had become of Aure’s body. He never went to that corner of England again.

When the truth of her ancestry came to light, that she was descended from Edith McMichael (formerly Edith Sharpe, née Cushing) the last great love of Sir Thomas Sharpe, Aure was painted as a romantic figure. An orphan who came to Crimson Peak looking for something. Was it family? Was it history? Was it love? Whatever it was, she took that secret with her to the after-life.

Every Valentine’s Day Eve, a few brave or foolish girls would appear at Allerdale. Setting up heat lamps and tents, they’d share stories and theories about what really happened to Thomas and his sister Lucille, Edith, the young optometrist Alan who rescued the young window and took her back to America. They wore ruby rings, replicas of Lady Sharpe’s lost original, made by an Allergal (what they called themselves) and sold through The Sharper Visage, an Etsy shop set up for the Allergal community.

Deep within the mansion, in a large, soft bed set up in the library, the ghost of Sir Thomas Sharpe was entwined with the ghost of Aure Saverin. The old master bedroom had too many bad memories of his mother, and the nursery was too full of Lucille. The library was where these two spirits, kindred spirits, made their home. If they were destined to haunt Allerdale forever, they were going to enjoy themselves.

The presence of so many young women, all feelings and hormones, fueled their lovemaking. Thomas lay between Aure’s legs, planting tender kisses on her inner thighs.

“Thomas…” she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut when his hands pushed her legs open wider. “Oh! Oh Thomas!” she cried when his mouth closed over her sex. His tongue traced her slit before pushing into her soft folds. Aure arched her back, and in response Thomas closed his lips around her clit and began to suck.

“Fuck, oh god, Thomas.” Her cries traveled out the library window, carried by the winds that rattled the windows before reaching the ears of the girls outside. They clutched each other, sipping at cups of mulled wine and wondering nervously what the noise could be.

Another cry, a long moan from Aure’s ghostly lips as Thomas’s long tongue explored her sex. His hands opened and closed over her breasts, the fingers pinching her nipples so she screamed with pleasure. The pinches were sharp, so to speak, uncomfortable. Their bite would later be soothed with the steady lapping of his warm, wet tongue. But only after she was brought to climax by him. For him. Only with him.

“Oh fuck oh fuck yes yes yes yes yes ooooooooooooooooooh…” Aure was a spirit. She was an echo. Of her former live self, of her own great-grandmother. But the way she loved him, the way she fucked him, was entirely her own.

“I love you.”

His voice was soft in her ear, loving and sweet. But below his cock was hard, now driving into her cunt. Aure held onto him, first around his bottom, then his hips, and finally his neck. She panted and moaned, her cries muffled by the crook of his neck.

Thomas’s clever fingers were relentless as they circled her clit, faster than the pace at which he fucked her. The sound of his own ecstatic cries followed Aure’s outside. The girls, already titillated by her sounds, found themselves undone by his voice. The only thing of Sir Thomas that could cross from one world to another, and it was enough to bring them pleasure. Give them dreams and fantasies powerful enough that they continued to return year after year after year.


End file.
